


Draco Malfoy And The Case Of The Bakewell Tart

by Rasborealis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Possible House-Elf Incursion, And A Bakewell Tart, Attempt at Humor, Everyone Acting Suspicious, Featuring Unlikely Study Groups, Goyle Being Polite, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Invisibility Cloak Intimacy, M/M, Malfoy Being Confused, Plants Going Rogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-23 05:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16612781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasborealis/pseuds/Rasborealis
Summary: Some kind of dangerous insanity bug seems to be spreading among the Eighth Year Hogwarts students, and it needs to be stopped, no matter what.Draco Malfoy is on the case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is...something that I wrote to get back into the swing of things and, frankly, to amuse myself. It is not to be taken seriously under any circumstances.

It is Draco’s professional opinion that Pansy’s gone off the deep end.

Granger obviously agrees with him, because she is reacting to Pansy’s cheerful offer of “Bakewell tart, Hermione?” with an open mouth and a wide-eyed stare. Pansy, undeterred, holds the tray out to her in a way that’s really quite invasive. Granger’s trapped between it and the back of her chair, and if Pansy doesn’t stop inching closer, Draco thinks that Granger might just tip her chair over in a desperate attempt at escape.

“It’s very good,” Pansy tries to assure her. “Fresh jam, flaky pastry, still warm; I picked it up from the kitchens myself. I know you’re a bit partial to them, so I thought you might enjoy a slice while you study.”

“Oh,” Granger says, and then, carefully, “You didn’t…lace it with anything?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I wouldn’t make it out of the room alive if I had,” Pansy scoffs. That doesn’t seem to reassure Granger one bit. Draco doesn’t blame her. Pansy Parkinson with a polite smile on her face and a tray of baked goods in her hands is a sight that would set off anyone’s alarm bells.

“Maybe later,” Granger manages to say when Pansy looks ready to force-feed her the tart.

“Of course. I’ll leave it on the table under a stasis charm, shall I? It’d be a shame if it were to go soggy.”

There is a collective intake of sharp breaths when Pansy pulls out her wand, and then a mass exhalation when she simply casts the stasis charm, puts down the tray, and wishes Granger a successful study session before making her way over to where Draco is sitting.

“What was that?” he hisses.

She gives him a secretive smile. “That was the first step.”

He has no idea what that means, and she won’t elaborate.

~*~

It is perfectly obvious to Draco that Pansy has infected Blaise with whatever insanity has taken root in her brain. There is no other explanation when he sees him holding open a door for the Weaselette, waiting patiently when she steps back, looking baffled, and eyes the doorframe as though expecting a trap.

Honestly, Draco is half-expecting one as well, because this just feels _wrong_.

“Did you change your mind?” Blaise asks politely when she just keeps standing there.

She blinks. “No, I…”

He waits. She waits. Draco waits, and so does everyone else who’s witnessing the scene, which means that the doorway is now effectively out of commission.

The Weaselette seems to realize after a moment that she’s holding up traffic, so she takes a step forward, but all her healthy instincts seem to scream at her to stop.

“There’s no catch,” Blaise assures her. “I’m just being polite, Ginevra,” and _what’s with the use of given names all of a sudden, anyway?_

So she takes a deep breath, whispers something to her friend – who puts her hand discreetly onto her wand – and marches through the door.

Nothing happens. Conversation picks back up, people recommence their hurried walks to classes, and Draco stands there with his mouth open, wondering if the insanity is going to catch him next.

_~*~_

It doesn’t. It catches Millicent. Draco has no other way to explain the lacerations she collects while helping Longbottom to wrestle a rogue Bitter Aciper back into the crate it had broken out of. She watches him secure it while clutching a bloody handkerchief to her face, and then she lets him fret over her plant-inflicted injuries, which is the very last thing Draco expected out of Millicent, ever. This is the same girl who once threatened to punch Goyle in the face because he suggested she have her broken toe looked at by Madam Pomfrey.

“It’s no problem,” she keeps assuring Longbottom. “I’m glad I could help.”

Longbottom peers at her, apparently trying to discern whether she’s just fucking with him. Draco fervently hopes she is, but that hope is dashed when Millicent asks several questions about plants, seeming honestly interested when Longbottom starts talking. Draco tries to catch her eye and give her a _what the hell_ sort of look, but she is too absorbed in her conversation to even notice him.

~*~

And then Goyle starts carrying Hannah Abbot’s books for her when she badly burns both her hands in Potions class and has to have them wrapped up for a week, and Draco can’t do anything but look on in despair.

~*~

Draco is returning a book to its rightful spot in the library when he comes across Potter. The Saviour is looking from a piece of parchment in his hands to the bookshelf and back, apparently searching for something. When he notices Draco, he looks at him with an alarmed expression.

“You’re not going to…help me study, are you?” he asks.

“What? No, you muppet, of course not,” Draco scoffs, and Potter looks utterly relieved. Tension seems to leave him in spades.

“Oh, good,” he says.

“What?”

Potter shrugs sheepishly. “Well, you know. Parkinson is offering Bakewell tarts, Nott started playing Wizard’s Chess with Ron-”

“Theo did _what_?”

“-and I’m just glad that something around here is still normal.”

“Me too,” Draco admits. Then he scowls, because agreeing with Potter isn’t exactly normal either, and does a good job of ramming his bony shoulder into Potter’s as he walks past him.

“Hey!” Potter says, sounding annoyed, and that’s at least a bit more normal, but it barely registers. Draco stops dead, nearly dropping his book at the sight that meets him as he steps out from the semi-darkness of the shelves. There, at the table that was empty ten minutes ago, sits the most unlikely assortment of 8th years he has ever seen.

“Hey Draco,” Pansy calls cheerfully.

“Come to join our study group?” Granger asks. “We can make space.” She signals to Blaise and Longbottom, who are sharing a book, and they start moving their chairs.

“I,” Draco says. “No, I-”

“What,” Potter says flatly behind him. He clearly can’t believe his eyes any more than Draco can.

“Have a seat, mate,” Weasley invites his best friend. “Millicent and Theo are bringing snacks from the kitchen.”

“Uh,” Potter says intelligently, and then, before Draco can think about what he’s doing, he is grabbing onto Potter’s arm in a panic and dragging him away in an attempt to save them both from the insanity bug.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco doesn’t let go of Potter until they’ve left the library and are standing in an empty corridor, both with the same sort of haunted expression on their faces.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Potter asks.

Draco shrugs helplessly. “I have no idea.

“Bullshit you don’t. The other Slytherins-”

“The other Slytherins seem to have caught some sort of insanity bug,” Draco informs him.

“That..that’s a thing?” Potter asks, startled. “Or are you taking the piss?”

Draco isn’t actually sure. He’s never heard of an insanity bug before, but it’s the only logical explanation.

“We need to get to the bottom of this,” Potter mutters.

Draco looks up sharply. _“We?”_

“Well, would you prefer blissful ignorance?” Potter snaps, which…is actually a good point, Draco has to admit. He can’t very well ignore the strange goings-on, not when every other Slytherin in his year seems to be involved.

“I’ve asked Pansy,” he says. “She won’t tell me anything, she just mutters things that make no sense.

“Like what?”

Draco squints at the empty air. “Something about… step one, I think? I don’t quite remember.”

Potter’s eyes widen. “Step one of what? Of some grand plan?”

“Potter, if there _was_ a grand plan, I would know it.”

Potter ignores him. “This is just the precursor to something worse, then,” he says, biting his lip. “They’re trying to lull us in, and when we’ve let our guard down…”

“Potter, stop being ridiculous!”

Before he knows what’s happening, he feels himself being pushed into the closest wall, and a pair of deep green eyes are staring intently at him.

“Parkinson asked me to go to Hogsmeade with her. Hogsmeade! Parkinson!”

A strange, nasty jolt shoots through Draco, and he assumes it’s outrage. “That’s not normal.”

“You’re telling me!”

“Have you asked anyone else about it?”

Potter shrugs. “I saw Hermione eat one of the Bakewell tarts and asked her if she was crazy. She said that Parkinson and she had a good talk. That’s all.”

“That _can’t_ have been all.”

“Well, it’s what she said. I left it alone, because she was getting that _look_ on her face, and arguing with Hermione…it’s not a useful pastime.”

“Right,” Draco says. When warm breath brushes his cheek, he realizes that Potter’s still gripping him by the shoulders and standing way too close. He considers asking to be released but feels strangely reluctant – probably because it’s not strategically smart to alienate the only other sane 8th year in the castle.

Yes, that has to be it. His Slytherin instincts are clearly at work here.

“What do we do?” Potter asks, and Draco suddenly finds himself in the strange position of having to come up with a cunning plan involving him teaming up with his former arch-nemesis.

“We can’t let on that we’re suspicious,” he starts. “Merlin knows what they’ll do if they think they’ve been found out.”

“Right, well, it might be a bit late for that,” Potter points out, finally letting go of Draco, “seeing how you rushed me of the library in a panic and all.”

“We need a good cover.” Draco runs his fingers through his hair. They aren’t entirely steady. “Maybe…maybe we should pretend we’ve caught the insanity bug too.”

“And how do we do that, exactly?”

“By Salazar, Potter, I don’t know! I haven’t had time to think about this!”

“Maybe you could bring me treacle tart in the common room,” Potter suggests.

“In your dreams!” Draco hisses. “But we could play Wizard’s chess, like Weasley and Theo.”

“I am absolute pants at Wizard’s chess, and I hate playing. Ron would know in five seconds that I’m just pretending.”

“There’s got to be something-” Draco starts.

Potter blurts, “Flying!”

Draco’s heart sinks immediately. He tries for a neutral expression, but Potter knows him to well to let it pass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “You love flying.”

“I,” he says, and breaks off. Closing his eyes, he exhales a shaky breath. He’s not ready for this.

“Malfoy, tell me,” Harry says, and his voice is uncharacteristically gentle.

“I, I haven’t,” he says, feeling vulnerable. “Not since-”

There is a long silence, and Draco can tell the exact moment Potter figures it out by the breath he sucks in.

“Oh.”

The Fiendfyre still haunts him in his dreams, Vince’s screams, the heat, the overwhelming power. He dreams of the absolute terror he felt when the certainty of his death had hit him, and he wakes up with that same terror still in his heart, tangled in sweated-through sheets and feeling moisture on his cheeks.

“I can’t,” he whispers.

“It’s alright.” There’s a hand squeezing his, and he blindly squeezes back, feeling thankful and confused. “Maybe we can just…practice some spells together. Defence? I’m good at defence.”

A vague idea about Potions tutoring flashes through Draco’s mind, but he can’t manage to voice it.

“Defence is fine,” he forces out. “I’ve got time tomorrow after Herbology.”

“Done,” Potter says, and just like that, they have formed an unlikely alliance.


	3. Chapter 3

“So,” Draco says, rolling out the parchment and giving it a gentle prod with his wand to reveal the chart he has made. “This is the path the infection has taken, insofar as I could reconstruct it. I’ve been observing Daphne, but I still haven’t found evidence either way as to whether she has caught the insanity as well. She’s always been a bit shallow and ditzy, so sharing make-up tips with Patil doesn’t strike me as out of character.” He traces a question mark next to her name with his wand, and it glows into existence, Robin’s Egg blue. “I may need your help though. It is possible she’s suspecting me of being onto her and therefore more careful around me.”

“Okay,” Potter says carefully. “Er…help with what, exactly?”

Draco lowers his wand and stares at his utterly dense temporary ally. “Are you paying attention at all? Observing Daphne for signs of insanity!”

“Yes, but how does that actually help us?”

Draco sighs, because for the first time he has something of an idea what Granger has to put up with at all times. Potter is lucky he’s got charm and fame. “If we can trace the path that the infection has taken, we might be able to determine its origin. That is the whole _point_ of this.”

“Right, okay.” Potter molds his expression into one of concentration. “But don’t we also want to figure out what their grand plan is?”

“I suppose. But I haven’t thought about how to do that yet.”

“I have, though,” Potter announces proudly. “Earlier today, I saw Parkinson and Hermione whispering together. There is no other explanation than them masterminding a plan.”

Draco frowns. “It wouldn’t be unlike them to be the ringleaders, I suppose,” he concedes. “The whole thing started with those bloody Bakewell tarts; it was probably when Pansy infected her.” It’s a rather frightening thought, Pansy and Granger joining forces for anything.

“We’ll have to spy on them, trying to overhear.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “And how are we going to do that? They’re not oblivious.”

“I’ve got an invisibility cloak.”

Draco sighs deeply, suddenly presented with an explanation for a lot of strange happenings over the years. “Of course you do.”

~*~

The first time that Draco and Potter spy on Pansy with the invisibility cloak, things get a bit strange. For one, Pansy spends way too much time in the girls’ bathroom, touching up her make-up, and the two of them nearly fall asleep from boredom. And then there’s the issue that…well, there’s not exactly a whole lot of space under that cloak of Potter’s.

Being pressed against the Saviour from shoulder to thigh, arms around each other as they try to melt into a wall to avoid being discovered by a passing group of first-years, means feeling each other’s heartbeats, panting into each other’s ear, sharing body warmth and inhaling each other’s scent. Surprisingly, Potter smells rather good, Draco has to admit, and so he really doesn’t mind when it happens several more times, even though they’ve lost track of Pansy somewhere along the way. Potter doesn’t seem to mind either, which can only mean that Draco smells like roses and has good taste in French aftershave, obviously.

They’re in one such position when a breakthrough in their investigation finally happens, embracing in a corner out of sheer necessity, even though the third-year Ravenclaws have come and gone, and even though hiding from them isn’t actually strictly necessary. Better safe than sorry, Draco thinks, pressing his nose to the side of Potter’s neck and sighing contently.

Just as Harry makes an unenthusiastic move to disentangle, they hear familiar voices, and Draco crowds him back against the wall so hard that their mouths almost collide. They both stand there, frozen, and Draco’s racing heartbeat is making his breath come short and his body feel all tingly and soft. He has clearly realized the mortal danger of the situation and is extremely worried about being discovered.

“…you think?” It sounds obnoxiously like Weasley.

“I’m not so sure anymore.” Theo, the stupid chess-traitor. “I mean, obviously we all thought so, that’s why we left them out of it in the first place, isn’t it?”

“But now they’re starting to act differently,” Weasley says thoughtfully. “Especially Harry.”

Potter jerks against Draco, just once, and Draco turns his head to whisper at him to calm down, but they’re too close and Potter’s cheek is right there, and Draco’s lips brush against it entirely by accident. Potter jerks again.

“Draco as well,” Theo says, and Draco goes rigid. “But he’s been rather secretive lately too, and that makes me worried. Won’t ever tell me where he goes when he leaves the common room, and spends a lot of time staring into space when he _is_ there.”

Weasley stops dead. “Harry’s doing the very same thing. Never sticks around anymore, always off to somewhere secret.”

The two of them look at each other and their eyes widen.

“You don’t think…” Theo says.

Weasley makes a strange gurgling sound.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” Theo asks. “Pansy and Hermione will be absolutely impossible about this.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t tell them,” Weasley suggests. He’s looking faintly nauseous. “Not just yet.”

Theo tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “I’ll agree to that,” he says, “but only because I’ll lose the betting pool if it gets out at this point.”

Weasley rolls his eyes, muttering something about self-serving Slytherins, and Theo bumps shoulders with him as he laughs, and then the two of them make their way down the corridor and up a stairwell.

Eventually, when they’re absolutely utterly sure the two of them are gone, Draco and Potter untangle their limbs. Potter pulls off the invisibility cloak and stares at Draco, who stares back with wide eyes.

“They’re onto us,” Potter says unnecessarily.

“No shit, Potter,” Draco snaps, because once again Potter is being such an idiot that Draco just wants to push him back against the wall and…do something to him. He’s not sure what, but it’ll be painful. Probably. For some reason, the idea of biting Potter’s full lower lip pops into his head, even though that’s a bit of a strange way to punish someone’s stupidity.

Anyway.

“They must be clinging to the last shreds of their sanity still,” he points out. “They’re trying to protect us, give us time to-”

“To what?”

“Get away?” Draco proposes, unsure.

“What? No. I’m not leaving my friends in the grasp of some madness. We should tell McGonagall.”

“Absolutely not. My chart showed a high likelihood that she’s involved in some way.”

Potter sighs. “Fine, then what do you propose?”

Draco opens his mouth, but the clever idea he’s expecting does not do him the favour of popping into existence.

“Keep your head down until I figure it out,” he instructs. “And maybe try to distract Granger.”

“That’ll be easy,” Potter says. “I’ll just ask her to write down her ideas about reforming the Muggle Studies curriculum. She’ll be busy for days.”


	4. Chapter 4

Their breakthrough comes from the unlikely source of one Gregory Goyle, who mentions to Draco that Pansy’s had him make a lot of trips down to the kitchens for food lately. Draco runs to find Potter, presses against him in an alcove – he’s just used to them being physically close at this point, it’s basically a survival instinct, okay? – and breathes into his ear, “It’s the house-elves.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Potter murmurs back.

“The Bakewell tart, Potter, that’s how it all started! They got to Pansy when she was in the kitchens for whatever reason, and everything developed from there. This is a house-elf incursion!”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Draco,” Potter says, obviously so shocked that he’s accidentally calling Draco by the wrong part of his name. “They’re house-elves, they don’t _do_ incursions.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Oh yes?” Potter asks. “Which ones?”

Draco is about to start listing them, but then Potter displays some fiendishly clever distraction skills when he slips one warm hand beneath Draco’s sweater and lays it on Draco’s lower back. Draco shudders involuntarily.

“Um,” he says intelligently, and Potter snickers.

“That’s what I thought.”

“At least consider the possibility! It’s very plausible.”

“Okay, fine,” Potter relents. “Meet me tonight, and we’ll sneak down to the kitchens and get some food.”

“And interrogate,” Draco adds.

“If you make any house-elves cry, Hermione will have your head, you know.”

That makes Draco pause. Sane Granger is scary enough and packs a mean punch – literally – and he does not want to find out how much more vindictive a not-sane Granger might be. “Fine, we’ll interrogate very politely.”

~*~

It’s difficult to remember that the house-elves are planning to take over the school, and the wizarding world in general, when they’re all wide-eyed enthusiasm and eager to please and hurrying over with trays of Draco’s favourite deserts as soon as he enters the kitchens along with Potter.  

They say a polite thank you and have a seat, and Draco is struck by how content Potter looks, sitting there opposite him, mouth so full he looks like an obese Puffskein and yet still able to give Draco a smile. It feels…nice, sitting here together, and Draco wishes they could do it more often.

The thought is so strange that it jolts him out of his musings, and he gets to work.

“So, tell me about the Bakewell tart,” he demands.

At least eight house-elves turn his way. “Bakewell tart, Sir?” the tiniest one of them, who has the highest voice Draco has ever heard from anyone, asks.

“Pansy Parkinson?” he prompts.

The elf’s expression clears. “Oh! _Those_ tarts. Pansy Parkinson be asking for one and saying she be trying to make friends.”

“Friends,” Potter repeats, looking thoughtful.

“Yes! Pansy Parkinson be telling the elves that she be wanting to be making friends with Harry Potter’s friends. She be asking how to show that she be _sorry_.”

Draco’s eyes widen. “That was a _peace offering?_ ”

“Makes sense, I suppose,” Potter says. “McGonagall did keep going on about unity and friendship and looking beyond our school houses during the welcoming feast. I’m impressed she took the initiative. That’s probably what caused everyone else to make an effort, too.”

“But…but what about the insanity bug?” Draco splutters, unwilling to believe his ears.

Potter throws him a look. “Seriously, Draco? That theory never made any sense, you know.”

He glares. “If you didn’t believe me, why did you even come to the kitchens with me?”

Potter smiles. “It seemed best to indulge you,” he says easily. “Besides, we still need to figure out why nobody told us about this. I feel a bit left out.”

“A bit,” Draco repeats, still in the middle of processing what just happened.

“Yes, Draco, a bit.” Potter rises from his chair and takes Draco’s hand, and for some reason it feels right, natural. Draco isn’t sure when that happened, but then, he’s been too busy investigating Bakewell tarts to pay attention. “Come on. Let’s find someone to tell us the truth of it.”

~*~

“Oh, Pansy just thought you’d never stop arguing if she told you.” Blaise waves it off as no big deal. “Or try to talk her out of it. She figured if it worked, you’d come around eventually.”

“And that is what happened, isn’t it?” Theo says with a pointed look at Draco’s hand, which is still entwined with Potter’s.

Draco scowls. “No. I _hate_ him.”

“Does that mean you won’t go to Hogsmeade with me?” Potter asks.

Draco thinks about it. “That sounds nice, actually.”

“Good.” Potter gives him a bright smile and turns to Blaise, who does not get a smile, Draco notes with satisfaction. “So why wasn’t _I_ told?”

Blaise shrugs. “Same reason. Hermione thought you’d balk, and Pansy was scared you’d try to nip the entire thing in the bud. I mean, you haven't exactly been the epitome of tolerance for Slytherins up until now.”

Draco hates how much sense it all makes, now that he really thinks about it. “Wait,” he says when something occurs to him. “So what were you and Weasley talking about in the hallway then, Theo?”

“Huh?” Theo asks blankly.

“Oh, good point.” Harry looks at Theo and doesn’t give him a smile either. Potter-smiles currently seem reserved for Draco, which feels very satisfying. “We overheard you and Ron saying something about Hermione and Pansy – I mean Parkinson – being absolutely impossible if you told them about…well, whatever you were going to tell them.”

Theo’s face finally clears. “Oh, that! Well, we figured you two had finally gotten around to sneaking out and doing the dirty somewhere, just like they predicted.”

“What!” Draco shrieks, in an embarrassingly high pitch.

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” Potter protests, and it’s the _yet_ that makes Draco’s brain explode a little bit. “Surely that doesn’t count!”

“Oh. Well, can you wait until next Wednesday?” Theo asks eagerly. “Because then I’d win the betting pool.”

“Screw your betting pool,” Draco snarls, and yanks Potter close by his shirt. Their lips press together, and the joyously warm feeling of it manages to drown out Theo’s pained words of protest and Blaise’s pleading that they _please_ get a room. Maybe it’s fitting that their first kiss happens because Draco is being petty and vindictive – Potter doesn’t seem to mind, at any rate. In fact, he could swear that Potter is enjoying the petty vindictiveness of the situation quite a lot, if his chuckling into the kiss is anything to go by.

“You should come to my room,” Potter tells him as soon as they separate.

Theo whistles lewdly, causing Draco to give him a dirty look. “To plot revenge on all of these idiots?”

“Not quite what I had in mind,” Potter grins, and – fine. Draco can live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for checking out this slightly goofy thing, and I hope you enjoyed! I appreciate all the comments I've received so far a LOT - it's lovely to hear that someone aside from myself thinks I'm funny. It's also a great boost, mood-wise, which I can always use. :)


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